Desicritics Author: The Mad Momma

The Concern for Children

The Mad Momma — Wed, 9 May 2007 10:10:18 EDT

The Bean and the Brat are being brought up rather carelessly by the OA and I. I like to call it benign neglect. Which is not to say that I make fun of fussy parents (I sooo do!) but that I see where they are coming from and I have only one thing to say - that I appreciate it, but don't have the temperament for it.

I cannot be bothered with sterilising and re-sterilising something and then starting all over again because a breeze blew some imagined dust or disease on to it. I just don't. BUT, it's not only because I am lazy; it's also because I don't like to fuss. It's just not me.

I ensure a minimum of safety and hygiene by my own standards and then I leave it at that. Barely 4 days old and the Bean was out everywhere: parties, picnics, everything. The Brat has done interviews with me till he was a good 7 months old. So being a stickler for hygiene would not have worked for me.

Which is why when I see another parent making an effort, washing their child's hands clean before giving them a cookie, sterilising their plates and crockery well into toddler hood and darkening the room and shushing the household at bedtime, I make every effort to help them. Because I know what an effort it is. And I respect it. I have never dismissed another parent's safety or hygiene concerns with a careless "Oh don't fuss," or an interfering, pedagogic, "You must allow the child to develop immunity" line.

I leave it at that mutual respect stage. And usually hope for the same courtesy. But I still get absolute strangers coming up to me and advising me on child rearing. Why are people so free with their advice?

Now with two kids, when we go out, the OA or I keep the Bean while the other fruitlessly chases the Brat around the mall/park/shopping area. So people who see the Bean with one of us, assume she is our first baby and immediately take it upon themselves to offer us advice. Which is when we point to the Brat and subtly make the point that we haven't yet damaged or killed the older one so it's unlikely we'll do it to the younger one.

The Beant was 16 days old when we were out at a fair and the OA had her in the Baby Bjorn on his chest. Tiny little thing that she was, she slipped in and had pulled her hands in and was comfortably and fast asleep. She likes to pull her hands under her and sleep on her belly, as does the Brat. I was with the Brat at the swings and the OA was buying some food, when a young couple (with no obvious children around them) decided to counsel him.

They began with a well-intentioned, "Your baby's hands are stuck under her.." The OA nodded and said she liked to keep them there and thanked them kindly for their interest. Now I imagine that they were hoping to point out something that might have slipped the parent's attention. Once the parent has informed you that they are aware of what is going on, and thanked you for your concern, move on and enjoy the fair.

But no. They were having none of it. They stood there and insisted that the OA take her hands out and stick them out of the carrier. Fortunately it was not me but the polite OA who kept his smile fixed on his face and kept assuring them that to change her position would disturb and wake her up and that she was very comfortable.

Finally the Brat and I bounded up and the couple turned to me in palpable relief. Ready to complain. Ah, here was the mother who would obviously know better than the father and set him right in his obstinacy. They were horrified when I firmly and not-so-politely told them that she was fine and we knew what we were doing. I really wasn't concerned with their feelings at that point, but more for the OA's. He changes a diaper and burps the babies better and faster than I can ever hope to. For his parenting skills or judgment to be doubted merely because he is the father and not the mother, is the biggest insult one can give him and very unfair.

A week ago we were in a shopping mall and I was in the changing room. I came out to see a lady advising the OA on how to keep the Bean in the stroller. Now again, the Bean loves to sleep on her stomach (probably due to gas) and so we make up a little bed for her in the stroller and she sleeps for hours on end on her belly, allowing us to eat or shop or run errands in peace.

This kind middle-aged lady came up to the OA and said, "I think your baby is uncomfortable." Again, I appreciate someone noticing the child in what they imagine is discomfort and pointing it out to us. We're only human and cannot be expected to watch the child every minute unblinkingly and ensure she is in no danger. It's always nice if someone draws your attention to something that they think is wrong because accidents do happen.

So the OA looked down at the stroller and saw the Bean peacefully lying on her tummy, burying her nose into the sheet. Now that is her way - we turn her head to one side, but she brings it back to the middle - and with her short stub of an excuse for a nose (inherited from me), she really is in no major danger of burying it anywhere!

"Thank you, but she likes to sleep that way," he smiled brightly at the lady. But she didn't stop. She took it upon herself to save the poor innocent from her obviously careless parents who didn't deserve her. And she kept insisting that the child was uncomfortable. Finally I, who had been hearing all this in the changing room, stepped out and she looked relieved. That immediately irritated me. Why would you assume a father is incompetent or careless? So when she began again, I firmly assured her that the child's father knows best and she is very comfortable. She began again, and I turned my back on her before I lost my temper.

I understand people are concerned about kids. But you have to draw the line at offending the person concerned. There is plenty that happens in India that others will find dangerous or unhygienic; you have to let the parents judge for themselves.

The last straw was a few days ago in a food court. The Brat is now in the throes of terrible two tantrums and each day ends with him tap dancing on my last remaining nerve - at the end of which he gets a smack and goes to bed... seriously. Time outs don't work. He just wriggles and struggles for hours and by the end of it we feel more punished than him and a good smack on the butt or offending part of the body sets him right. And then off to bed before his parents commit suicide and orphan him.

So the Bean was in her stroller by my side, a mosquito net covering her and the OA was in charge of his son who was in high spirits and draining us. A Bengali family came and sat down next to us. And I think that they had nothing to talk about except us. One of the advantages of a cultural mishmash like the OA and me is that between us we understand most Indian languages. He knows or understands Bengali, English, Hindi, Konkani, Kannada, Tulu, Marathi and Gujarati. I speak or understand Tamil, English, Bengali, all dialects of Hindi spoken across UP, MP and Bihar, Malayalam, Sindhi and Punjabi. So people who bitch about us in our presence, need to find a language not on that list.

So they began by talking about the Brat who was by that time driving us up the wall. Refusing to eat, blowing bubbles into the glass with the straw and spilling the OA's drink, running away... but despite all his misbehaviour, he wasn't loud and he did not trouble anybody else at the other tables. They kept talking about how naughty he was, which truth be told, he was. So nothing to complain about. In fact, they were very amused by the dance he was leading the OA.

Then they got started on poor Beanie. About how it was terrible to bring out such a small child. And they kept looking at us and defiantly talking about us, secure in the knowledge that we didn't understand a word so couldn't object to them looking at us and pointing and talking.

Now she was perfectly comfortable, fast asleep, safe: what exactly was their problem? I looked at the OA who beseeched me with his eyes not to say anything. They argued about whether she is one month old or two. I was about to chip in and settle the argument when the OA bribed me with some food to shut up. And they just went on dissing us and talking about what they imagined was our negligence. Yes, you idiots, I wanted to say. I tortured myself through pregnancy and childbirth, just to bring her out and slowly torture and kill her. And I am right on plan.

But I let them talk about us while I simmered on a low flame, and then we paid our bill and got up to leave. The OA chased the Brat who figured we were done and shot off towards the exit. I slowly bundled up our belongings, the Bean in the stroller and my bag and followed. And as I passed their table, I stopped and sweetly smiled and offered in Bengali, "She's 6 weeks old and she's very comfortable" and walked on.

Strategy forbade me from turning around to see their expressions.

The Ghar Jamaai Taboo

The Mad Momma — Tue, 1 May 2007 11:21:42 EDT

I have a very deep, dark and horrific secret to share... with just... oh... the rest of the world. My dad, is a ghar jamai! (Deafening silence as people take that bit of information in) For the non-Hindi speakers, that means he lives in my mother's maternal home. And that - is just not acceptable. Not in India.

A man living in his wife's home is just... well, not a man, is he? All sorts of combinations are acceptable - woman living with her in-laws, couple living in their own home, husband's parents living with the couple, wife's parents living with the in-laws, everything - but a man living with his in-laws.

Funnily however, it's almost become family tradition for us. My maternal grandfather was a man well ahead of his times and in those days he chose to move in with my maternal grandmother's family after marriage. He had left his hometown to study in ours and then went on to get a job there. He was my grandmother's elder sister's badminton partner and frequented their home often.

And before long fell in love with my grandmother. The youngest of 5 brothers and sisters she was shy, quiet and retiring and extremely pretty and petite. She reciprocated his feelings but things didn't really move forward.

The years went by and she refused to marry him because all her brothers and sisters had scattered across the world and she didn't want to leave her old parents rattling around alone in their big old house. She agreed to marry my grandfather on the condition that he stayed on and helped take care of her aged parents. Since he was working in her hometown and not with his family in any case, he was only too happy to take care of his in-laws who were exceedingly fond of him.

Over the years he took care of them better than any son. Carrying my great grandmother to the toilet after her paralytic stroke, spending enormous amounts on their health and spending long evenings chatting with the old couple after he came back from work.

A national level football and badminton player, there was no sport my grandfather didn't excel at and we have a scrapbook at home full of newspaper cuttings of his victories. If it were today, he would be a household name with media's wide reach. As it is, he is still well known among his contemporaries of whom there are few still alive. So many years later, I was chatting with one of the OA's granduncles and we realised he was a huge fan of my grandfather's and often heard his matches on the radio....

The point I am making being, that my grandfather was a well educated man (he was a professor) and a well known sportsman. Still, it didn't hurt his ego or make him insecure to live with his wife's parents so many years ago. As people got to know him they realised that he was doing a lot more for his in-laws than they had done for him and the fact that they had put a roof over his head was irrelevant because he could have bought that house twice over.

Years later my father left his home and family to marry my mother and it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship because his in-laws were as fond of him as they were of their own son. (Actually, to know my dad, is to love him!) Of course they got married and went away. But then about 10 years after marriage my father wanted to make a start in business and by coincidence, it needed to be set up in Uttar Pradesh and my mother's hometown was as good a place as any. It made sense to put all their funds into the new business, be close to my brother and I (who were being brought up by my grandparents) and have family support.

He was as good a son-in-law as my grandfather was. My grandmother passed away due to Alzheimer's and my dad fed her her last solid meal - like you do to a child. He would hold her hand and take her for a walk around the garden when she began to forget how to walk. He helped her hold a paintbrush when it looked like she was forgetting how to paint (she was a good artist) and would sit and eat all his meals with her despite getting late for work, just to ensure that the nurse didn't neglect her. He took care of every last old member of the house including my grandfather who was bedridden at the end and even my grandmother's sister who also died of Alzheimer's.

My parents continue to live in the old family house, which takes a lot to maintain but is beautiful... full of trees and birds and a pond. It has been renovated and perhaps the renovations cost more than buying and building a new house in Delhi.

Why do I bring up the cost factor? Because the usual argument is that only a man who cannot support his family would be so shameless as to live off his in-laws. The assumption being that if you live with your wife's family, they pay for your family's upkeep. A leading member of our community, my dad is well known in his own right and we often tease him on his semi-celebrity status because the local papers are always interviewing him for some reason or the other. He is not at all known by his in-laws surname or fame.

Frankly, I see no harm in that either. As working and independent women we often take our husbands' surnames and live with their families without it hurting our egos. So why in this case do we hold on to age old prejudices. What is wrong with a man being known because his in-law's family is well known?

Are you ashamed of your wife's family? Is she not proud to be associated with yours? Is there anything wrong with it being both ways? And for all the feminism we talk of, it seems rather hypocritical. To say nothing of the kind of pressure it puts on a man to stay away from his in-laws' home regardless of how convenient it might be or how comfortable he might be in their company. What happened to good old equality? Why is it so selective?

Perhaps a matriarchy is our fate because years later, history repeated itself and the OA walked out of his family and into our home. We were married two months before his job began so we stayed with my parents and he fitted in perfectly and was quite happy. I believe one of the things he had been warned about when walking out on his family was that horror of horrors, he might become a ghar jamaai!

"I'll risk it," he grinned, and married me.

I guess the reason why this works rather well, in my opinion, is that invariably, trouble comes between DIL and MIL. A son in law rarely has a problem with his in-laws in my experience. Often I run to soothe the OA's feelings if I feel a family member has been rude to him, only to realise he has either not even taken it amiss, or then taken it in his stride saying that since he enjoys the liberty of speaking his mind with them, he expects the same courtesy (or discourtesy!) from them.

Also, India being the way it is, people have very low expectations from a son in law and are happy with whatever crumbs of affection he throws their way. Whereas a daughter-in-law is expected to be as good as you perceive your daughter to be and some more! As a result it's so much easier for a son-in-law to just fit in with the family and be treated like royalty.

Today when the OA and I dream of the house we would like to buy and build castles in the air, my family home is his benchmark. He wants a house that size, with that kind of atmosphere and the dozens of servants who magically keep appearing from dark corners to do your bidding! He also wants a holiday home in the hills. And so we've reached a happy compromise that we will probably some day buy that house in the hills to holiday at, because we have the security of my family home to fall back on. With my brother in the US, I have the responsibility of my parents.

At 50 and 54, they aren't very old and are busy setting up new businesses and buying fast cars right now so I don't think they will need us in a hurry. But when they do, I know the OA will be only too happy to either bring them to live with us or go and take care of them there.

What prompted this post is a meal with some acquaintances while my parents were in town over the weekend. They insisted on piling the OA's plate with food and making a fuss of him. This was in strong contrast with my parents who treat him like a son. There is no formality of constantly plying him with food and wine and being servile because he is the son-in-law.

"Oh you are the jamaai," gushed the lady. "We must make sure you have no complaints. "

Umm... he is my parents' son-in-law and I assure you they love him and take adequate care of him. They just don't fall at his feet and worship him.

The lady was also ill-mannered enough to gasp in shock and visibly blanch when she realised my father was a ghar jamaai. She and her husband then proceeded to make a dozen derogatory comments all while trying to seem comfortable with the situation and they ended up bumbling and making more of an issue over it. Fortunately my father is too comfortable in his own skin and his achievements to take it amiss and smiled goodnaturedly. As usual it was only yours truly who began to simmer at the rudeness.

A few comments were aimed at the OA too, telling him to be warned or else he too would end up being a ghar jamaai, which is of course unthinkable for any self-respecting man. The OA who is as self-respecting a man as any, grinned disarmingly to include my dad and said, "Well I would love to. I think it's the perfect life. Wife and I will both be comfortable and happy. And I would get to live in comfort and a style that is not possible nowadays."

I think in the Indian context I am blessed in having a father and a husband who are perfectly secure and very comfortable their situations.

I am also tired of hearing even the most so called modern and broad minded women say they would hate to have to live in their parental home. And I am sick of hearing parents say they hope never to see the day when they will be dependent on their daughters; either due to the daughter and son-in-law coming home to take care of them or them living with the daughter in their married home. WHY? Why must you have only your son and DIL take care of you?

I would be hurt if my parents felt it would be a blow to their pride to live with me and the OA. After all, most homes are run by the woman. The food I cook, the way I decorate the home and the traditions we carry on are more influenced by me than the OA. My parents would be more comfortable with me than my in-laws. And someday my brother will be married and his home will be tilted towards his wife's culture and habits. And my parents will be less comfortable there than her parents. This is not a rule, it's just something I have noticed. You may have noticed otherwise!

Also, sons find it harder to tell their parents not to interfere because the assumption immediately is, that the DIL has set him up. On the other hand, I am not at all hesitant to tell my parents not to interfere. They know it's my opinion and not the OA's.

If, God forbid, someday my parents need me to take care of them, I will not hesitate to do it. And if the OA and I don't find the house of our dreams, we will not hesitate to go back to my home.

As it stands today, my brother in the US can send my parents money if they fall ill or on bad times, but I don't think it's reasonable to expect him to take them there. The lifestyle will be a shock to their system, there is no house help and my brother and his family will need to do a lot to make the old couple comfortable. I, on the other hand am accustomed to my parents and their ways and they to mine.

So for me to take care of them might be an additional responsibility but not something I would shirk. It costs so much less to get house help in India and they will be happy in their own surroundings in their old age. And if I ever snap at them in frustration or exhaustion, it will be understood for what it is, not misconstrued as a daughter-in-law's might be, for resentment.

What about the OA's opinion, one might wonder. The OA loves his parents, but rarely has a word to say to them. That is their relationship. On the other hand, his relationship with my parents is ideal. Much younger than his parents and very easy going, he loves going out restaurant sampling with my dad and arguing with my mum about her shopping habits. They are very often found sharing a beer at a pub in the vicinity and arguing over the merits and demerits of a recently launched car or the last cricket match. They give as good as they get and their relationship is independent of me. On the other hand, his own parents being much older than mine and very conservative, he has to ensure that neither of us end up offending each other - it's not an easy or enviable task.

This is not a case for all sons-in-law to live with their wives' families. It is simply an argument that it can work equally well both ways and need not be a cause for shame and horror. It reeks of an orthodox way of thinking, accustomed as I am, to my family's own way of doing things.

At the end of the day it all boils down to the convenience factor and you need to do what suits you without fear of societal pressure or censure.

And if someday my son is caring enough and secure enough to take care of his wife's family, I will know I have done a good job with him. And I have told the OA that like elephants, I would like to go home to die and be buried under the mango tree I grew up climbing. He wants his ashes buried near me, so I guess if not in life, in death he will be a ghar jamaai!

My Little Patchy Baby

The Mad Momma — Mon, 23 Apr 2007 11:48:27 EDT

We've spent the last week taking Baby Bean to various doctors. Her face is still peeling and spotty and we're worried. And though we're not paranoid parents it got a bit too much, even by our standards, when we found pus behind her ears.

The doctor we were taking her to all this while only consults for a short while each morning, there is always a huge crowd and the medicine he gave only works as long as we apply it. The moment her skin clears up and we stop, it starts all over again.

Finally we heard of an excellent paediatric intensivist who has come back to India after years of practicing abroad and so we took her to see him. He told us she has eczema. Which explains the cradle cap. He also told us that eczema is a dry skin condition for life. And sometimes, only sometimes, it is associated with asthma and food allergies. And then he proceeded to check her lungs and heart. It was around this time that I lost heart. The checking of the heart.

So there she is. Five weeks old and her face peeling, pus behind her ears, her scalp flaking off thick and yellow and the rest of her body red and frightful in the creases.

We took her home with the prescribed medication and sat down to bathe her, moisturise her and apply the medication. And the Brat came along and kept kissing her - big, wet open mouthed kisses all over her body, ingesting the ointment. I tried to stop him and gave up. Let him love his little Beanie baby as much as he wants.

And then to show him how irritating it is to be kissed non-stop all day, I caught him and began to give him the same treatment. Kissing his sturdy little arms and legs, nuzzling his neck, hugging him tight. And smelling baby powder and a clean bathed baby. Now when I picked up the poor patchy little Bean and cuddled and kissed her, I only smelled the medication. Harsh and strong. Not what I want my little baby girl to smell like.

So as we turned in for the night I hugged her close and ended up crying. Babies are meant to be soft and sweet smelling - like babies! My poor little angel is peeling off and patchy like a dalmatian and probably itching but can't tell us.

I had just put away my Bible and I knelt to pray and held her little hands and asked God to take away her skin problems. And as I cried and prayed, I realised how weak I was being. The Brat has been through a few bouts of fever and many a dislocated wrist and shoulder. But never have I been told that something is a 'life condition.' Never have they checked his heart. Never have I been told he might be afflicted with something lifelong like asthma.

I've seen my brother choke and wheeze and gasp for breath because he suffers from asthma. He's been hospitalised for it and he lives with his inhaler in his pocket. And it's always made me ache. And to think I might see my daughter do the same makes me want to curl up in a dark corner and cry.

I've seen my dad try remedy after remedy for his eczema and now he lives with dark patches of thickened skin on his face and neck (yes, that is why we tease him about having to smile on a dark night to be seen). So both these allergies and conditions are actually things she gets from me. From my side. And I feel terrible. The babies look exactly like me. And I've passed on disadvantages from my side too. But that is neither here nor there.

As I kept praying frantically and asking God to let me suffer instead of her, I realised that I was being silly. There are children and parents who face far greater challenges with much more courage and fortitude. This is nothing. The doctor has only told me to watch out for signs of asthma and lung problems and food allergies. Right now she can be treated. And we just have to keep up the treatment for life. And it's only an itchy skin disease and a flaky scalp for God's sake. Nothing to cry over.

And then I realised, that we are only tested by God as much as we can take. He probably feels I am incapable of seeing my child suffer any more. Pus behind her ears is the most I can take. And so that is all I am given. But I guess no matter what it is that your child has, you want it to go away. Nothing is enough. Even the slightest problem affects you greatly as a parent. You can't bear to see it.

A birthmark, a skin problem, a lung problem, a handicap, a hole in the heart, a squint, anything. Because we want our babies to be perfect. Because we want to do all we can to give them the best possible start in life. Because we eat our vitamins, take our rest, get our shots and go through even a caesarean if it means giving them a healthier and safer start to life. Because we want them to have perfect lives.

One Billion Indians Are Enough and Other Thoughtless Remarks

The Mad Momma — Mon, 16 Apr 2007 07:12:27 EDT

This week, I have heard a variety of statements being made about children that left me wondering where we are headed as a society.

The first was an old college mate who I bumped into after a good 6 years. The last time he met me I was a determined career woman clocking in over 18 hours a day. And the sight of me with babies clinging to my hem while I typed away or stirred a pot of stew was more than he could handle.

The first thing that really surprised me was him saying that he was against having kids, one reason being that he was not willing to share his wife with anyone. Really? The OA would be happy to hand me over to anyone who wanted me and put an end to his premature greying!

No, seriously... children are always 'ours'. Not 'his' and 'hers' like towels. They belong to two parents. It's not as though your wife has had them by herself and for herself and you grudgingly allow her time with them or feel as though your place has been usurped. But sure, any man who feels that way is sparing some poor child a bad life by not giving birth to them.

He went on to remark that one billion Indians is enough, so really, none of us should have children. Yes, I agree we have a population problem. But if our entire generation decided against having kids we would have the same problem Japan is having with an aging population! And no one needs to have a dozen children; one child or two children is a good amount. And it's not us who need to be stopped but the uneducated millions who keep having kids and can't support them.

Frankly I don't think anyone has a 'right' to stop another from having kids. Unless it's the government. And the government has no right to tell people how to live their lives and how many kids to have when it is incapable of offering them basics like social security or jobs or something. But no, when I planned my child I wasn't thinking of how it would increase the population from 1 billion to 1 billion plus 1.

And of course the famous line - "You don't have a life after you have children. I have been bungee jumping, paragliding, sky diving, martial arts, blah blah and most of you will never have that experience."

This one always gets my goat. As humans we always talk about the value of experiences. And I love new experiences as much as the next person. But it seems so disrespectful and immature to put having a child on the same level as paragliding or trekking. I've done both, thank you and while I thoroughly enjoyed them and would love to do more, I don't think they are anywhere close to matching the experience of bringing up a child. In fact I have done them after having the Brat too. There is nothing to stop you from having fun and bringing up children. They are not mutually exclusive. I see a lot of people putting off kids or not having kids because they think it will cut down on the number of experiences they will have. Kids can go anywhere unless of course you are completely anal and refuse to take your child out of your house for fear of germs. The truth is, having a child is a beautiful experience and losing out on that will be their biggest loss. Check out Adventure Dad for parents who still have a life after kids if I am not a good enough example.

There is a reason why people are trying hard to conceive, waiting years to adopt and spending time and energy bringing up a special child because it's so beautiful. And it's disrespectful to all of them to come up with something like this. And mostly disrespectful to God (if you believe in God) and nature to dismiss what is the greatest power we have been given, to create life. And rather silly to dismiss an experience you haven't had.

Paragliding, bungee jumping, deep sea diving... sports where you are pushing your body to new limits, beyond the daily walk to your car and sitting at a computer. And yet you don't realise how creating a child and knowing that it has come from your body or feeling a child grow inside you is such a blessing, such a privilege. It is pushing your body to another kind of limit. To say having a child will make you miss out on the rest, is so shallow!

Our chat moved on to a college mate who divorced her husband of ten years because of many reasons, only one of them being that she wanted a child and he didn't. They also had plenty of other problems. But apparently they had agreed on not having a child before they got married. And they stuck with it. Till she accidentally got pregnant after 8 years of the marriage and he insisted she abort the baby. Now I am not getting into the rights and wrongs of a deal. All I am talking about right now, is that she had, by that time, begun to want a baby after seeing the rest of us having babies. Also the biological clock - she said she felt the need to have a baby, but couldn't bring it up with him. And the thought of killing a baby she had already conceived was devastating. There is a difference between an abortion and just not having a child. So she dithered over the abortion and finally went for it and broke her heart. Eventually they got divorced so that is over. But the abortion was a last straw on an already rickety back of a bad marriage.

So the conversation moved to her and he rudely brought up the biological clock and said, 'The problem with most humans is that they are ruled by their hormones."

Wow! Let me respond to that -
1. Most humans are ruled by their hormones - as opposed to you being ruled by what?
2. And bungee jumping and sky diving give you an adrenaline rush.. what would you call that being ruled by?
3. And if everyone were only hormone driven there would be a lot more rape and murder than we can imagine. Hell, I can think of a couple of people I would kill if my brain hadn't stopped me!
4. And yes, we are all human and we do let our hormones lead us to do a lot of things, guided by our brains. Why is that a bad thing? Nature gave you your hormones for a reason. If you think it's below your dignity to follow them, perhaps you need to rethink your need for speed, thrills and other such things?

This was just one person. So you can imagine what the week has been like. I actually heard a gem that was something like this 'We don't let the two children affect our life. Our careers and holidays are important to us." Now their kids are school going so I cannot imagine how much psychological scarring they had faced with that kind of attitude.

I was speechless for a long time. Still am. Which is why I need to type the damn words out to get them out of my system. For chrissake! Who asked you to have the kids? Nobody forced them up your hoohaa and back out, or did they?

Your kids don't affect your life? Mine just swept me off my feet. As did many others'.

I was under the illusion that when you have kids you make them the centre of your life. No, don't give up your job, your hobby classes, your love for books, your friends - you don't need to. But if every choice is not weighed against how it will affect your children, I don't want to know about it. Smoking, drinking, parties, careers, foul language, these are all a part of our life. And maybe we can't give them up cold turkey, but we have to try to work out a way to accommodate the child.

I am the first to acknowledge that it's hard to accomodate children. The Bean was crying and I irritably muttered 'Oh shut up for a minute, will you' And a while later I hear the Brat standing at her bassinet, peering in at the crying baby and saying, 'Shut up Bean, shut up!', in the most loving way ever. He didn't even realise it was rude. He just thought it was the right thing to say to a crying baby to pacify her. I promised myself to try harder immediately.

And here I look back on a post when Rohini and I were disagreeing. Over working mothers. And yet she made a very clear point. That no meeting or presentation was more important than her child. As did the other working mothers. None of them have left their child with a caregiver that they were not confident of. Their jobs, working hours, the house situation and family situation have all been worked around the child's needs. I have never before heard any other parent say that they wouldn't let a child 'get in the way' of what is important to them. Perhaps I am just old fashioned and sentimental but I cannot help but wince when I hear such things. And the more I hear it, the more I wonder how selfish and immature we are getting to be.

In fact I don't know if selfish is the right word because I look on my decision to have kids as completely selfish. I haven't had them as a social cause. I had them because I want them, I love being with them and I am home too because I, the all important 'I' (!), think it's the right thing to do, the best thing to do. So I can't even call these other people selfish; I can just think - how stupid! If this was the attitude, why did they choose to have children at all?

And at the end of this rude-fest week all I can do is hope I meet nicer people next week!

Yes, one billion Indians are enough but they're not enough for me if it means not having at least one of my own and I cannot imagine my life without my two little Indians.

Black Is Beautiful

The Mad Momma — Wed, 11 Apr 2007 00:02:00 EDT

The Bean got burned black when we sunned her to get rid of her jaundice. It's been two weeks and she still looks horrendous.

Visitors who take a look at the burnt black baby with peeling skin and little red heat rash bumps struggle to go through the whole polite 'what a cute baby' motion!!! I am dying to laugh at their dishonesty but I nod politely, let them finish and tell them that I am yet to come across such an ugly baby. Because it's true. She is already up one kilo since birth, in less than 20 days and while her arms and legs are already gaining their baby chubbiness, she is an awful sight! I know the tan and rash will clear up and be absolutely darling in a while, but just because I am her mother doesn't mean I am blind to the fact that she is a disaster right now. She's just plain lucky the camera is packed up or else I would be displaying terrible pictures of her right now.

Now I think the Bean is going to be darker than the Brat anyway. No surprises there. He takes after his fair father. She takes after her darker mother. So? There is nothing wrong with me and Bipasha Basu and Sheetal Mallar and Naomi Campbell. I think I'm gorgeous... even if my loving in-laws choose to disagree.

Jokes aside, I have faced a lot of discrimination across the years and I know my daughter will face it too. My mother was darker than her fine-boned brother. My cousin is darker than her sharper-featured brother. Both of them are used to insensitive guests remarking that it's sad that the men in the family are better looking. My brother and I on the other hand look very alike and are almost the same complexion. So I was spared that trauma as a kid, but the Good Lord made up for it with my husband. I face those comments now. True. I married him for his complexion and his sharp features. He's my himbo. His intelligence and compassion and good nature and sensitivity don't really count. As for me, I am pure evil under this chocolate colour.

I went to Doctor Barbie for my last check up and she took one look at the Bean and predictably said "Oh my God... she's so black... your little Brat is such a handsome child." I object to that on my many levels.

Does colour alone make you ugly? The Bean and the Brat have inherited my very strong genes and are both little carbon copies of me. So if the Brat is cute, so is the Bean, even if in a darker shade of brown. The Brat too isn't really a white baby - he is nowhere near his father's shade of pink and white.

And why would you say 'black' in such a derogatory tone? I am allowed to call my child anything I wish. You aren't.

And why would you compare the two children where one is shown to be better than the other? Only parents get to play all the mind games and make f**king comparisons that screw up a child's head as a reward for putting up with them. No one else.

No seriously. Why should anyone else make a comparison between my children openly? It's fortunate that neither of them is old enough to take note yet, but I can see this scene playing out again and again over the next 30 years. Why are people so insensitive? And shallow?

At home the OA and I call the Bean Kallumal and Blackie Boy but that is our choice. No one else has a right to tell us what to call her. I have noticed that if you take something that society treats as negative and make a joke out of it, it doesn't really hurt.

My mother laughed at her own pug nose and taught me to do the same. I love my nose and am happy to joke about it. She was called blackie by her fair mother (my maternal grandmother) and she doesn't mind it at all today. In fact she is even called dark by my father who I swear to you cannot be seen on a moonless night unless he smiles. A true case of the pot calling the kettle black. Yet, it's a family joke to call her black and she enjoys a laugh as much as the rest of us.

On the other hand I see that children who haven't been teased at home about any so called failings are the ones who feel the worst about it.

I don't know why black or dark is such a slur. I think my mum, my family, my daughter and I are in terrific company with Halle Berry and Jada Pinkett. I also don't know whether my daughter will be a looker or not. All I know is that she will grow up comfortable in her skin, ready to take a joke that is on her and not at all sensitive about being darker than her brother. And her father and I will keep calling her lil' Kallu. And I will bitch slap the next person who dares to compare her to her brother in an uncomplimentary way.

When You've Had A Child, At Least Try To Bring Them Up!

The Mad Momma — Mon, 9 Apr 2007 05:56:00 EDT

Last night the OA (my husband, otherwise known as the Other Adult or OA) and I took the Brat (our nearly two year old son) and Bean (our newborn baby daughter) to a mall. We were tired of sitting at home and the mall was the safest place to let the Brat stretch his legs without getting run over or hit in the face with a cricket ball.

I swear never to do it again, while the OA, politically correct as ever, says it's an 'avoidable' experience.

Barely 20 days after my c-section I should be resting as much as possible but I am so bored out of my skull that I suggested the outing. The Bean screamed in the sling, the Brat ran around happily but that tired the OA out and by the end of the evening we realised we were OLD!

But what really upset me was an incident at Shopper's Stop. The OA was trying on a shirt in the trial room so I kept the Brat occupied in the play area while holding the Bean. It was a small pen with a slide and a blackboard and the Brat was playing there sweetly with the other children. The OA who had put him in there, warned me that the little boy in the yellow t-shirt was hitting the other children with the blackboard duster so to keep an eye out for him. Now, by this time, the Brat had found a piece of chalk and was drawing on the board, happily giving the chalk to the other children and helpfully wiping out everything they drew and then drawing and telling them to wipe it out.

All was calm, which is a good thing because I was holding the Bean with both hands. At this point the little yellow child's mother came up and stood by me, looking at her child as fondly as I was looking at mine, both of us probably seeing only sweetness and light surrounding our own children.

And then, the yellow Terror (he must have been about 6 months older than the Brat) just stretched both his arms out, smacked my son in the face and kept pushing him in the face with both hands till he fell backwards. Now the Brat doesn't go to school and is unused to hostility. The only children he sees are our friends' and none of them is violent. So my good natured son just fell back on his little bum and sat there looking at me in shock. He had no idea how to deal with the situation. Neither did I. I was seeing red and I glared at the little yellow Terror and turned to look at his mother.

And that person just stood there looking fondly at her hostile Brat, smiling away and all I could see was this big, softly spreading like pudding woman with a round, soft face, smiling gently and encouragingly at her badly behaved Terror.

Anyway, I told the Brat to get up and dusted his butt and told him to get back to drawing on the blackboard . And loudly, in her hearing, told him not to play with the little boy because he didn't know how to play.

So, the Brat goes back to drawing and the little Terror stands there watching. He then goes and sits down at the foot of the slide so that none of the other children can slide down. Other parents glare at him, whilst his pudding-faced mother continues to smile like the Mona Lisa. Finally one of the parents whose child was sitting at the top of the slide waiting to slide down tells her to slide and not bother. So she slides down and kicks Yellow Terror in the butt - something I dearly wish I could have done. Pink pudding faced lady STILL doesn't say anything, just smiles sweetly and asks him if he would like to leave.

But no. Not yet. Yellow Terror wants to spread more terror. So he comes back to the Brat and sticks out his fat, big hands and shoves the Brat over again ... in the face. Now at this point I was torn between smacking Yellow Terror senseless and giving the Brat a whack for being such a victim. I am glad my son is not a troublemaker, but I wish he were not such a sweet little child either. My first reaction then, was to turn to the mother and look at her. Surely she would admonish him, or apologise to me, or pull him off my son, or help my son up, anything. But that silly person just stood there watching her fat bully son towering over mine.

I rushed in, Bean dangling precariously from one arm, helped the Brat up and yelled at the Yellow Terror, "What is wrong with you!" Then I looked around apologetically and saw the other parents smiling at me gratefully. I gave the Brat a piece of chalk and he and a little girl began to companionably scribble on the board again. Pudding face saw the grimacing parents and gently called to the Yellow Terrorist and took him away. As she carried him away I think I caught a glimpse of a sort of plastic belt around his waist and now that I think back he did seem to walk funny. But I could be wrong because it all happened in a flash.

Now the Brat is no angel. Today he spat his dinner out at the OA and me, threw a brush across the room and kicked the couch. But he is not a hostile child. His naughtiness is limited to the house and with his parents. And the OA and I don't hesitate to smack or reprimand him in public for misbehaviour, regardless of the scene it creates. Children seem to count on parents not wanting to create a scene and so get away with murder. A good old yell or a smack on the butt and the Brat realises we aren't afraid of public censure. And specially in India you have a dozen old ladies coming up to you and saying, 'Arrey baccha hai, don't scold him.'

Now I read often about other parents who have children who have behavioural problems and I try really hard to be understanding. There are children who are much better behaved than my son and I am sure those parents think my son is a terror. So while the Brat might misbehave, nobody can accuse the OA or me for not doing something about it. We might fail to prevent something from breaking or falling, but we're up in a flash and he gets a yell or a good smack. And even if he screams himself blue in the face, we hold him down or tight in our arms, excuse ourselves and leave or take him to a quiet corner and let him calm down. We don't just stand there smiling benignly like that stupid, bovine faced pudding mother.

Because this is my problem. My son is a good natured, loving child. And I am not going to let your child's problems become mine. I don't want my son to learn to hit back and fight. There is plenty of time for that.

When I was in hospital giving birth to the Bean, a friend came to visit with her son who is a year older than the Brat. Now that child is another terror, but his mother, to her credit, does reprimand him. He just doesn't listen despite her calmly disciplining and then finally smacking him. Now I don't want to get into a debate about how one should discipline their child, I only want to say that as an observer I was just happy to see that the parent made an effort. When her son tried to pull down 24 hour old Baby Bean from her crib despite her telling him not to, she slapped him so hard that I saw stars. Anyhow, I deviate.

The OA walked in while she was there and bought a chocolate for her son and the Brat to share. That little boy kept offering the chocolate to the Brat and pulling it back each time the Brat put his hand out to take it. I was obviously not going to check someone else's child and was in too much pain to do anything else so there was nothing to be done. Later in the day, the Brat's first date and her parents came to visit me and the Brat offered her a chocolate and then kept pulling it back each time she shyly accepted. The OA and I were livid to say the least.

Children pick up so fast. The Brat had already learnt to tease from the other little boy and this was not acceptable. The OA was terribly embarrassed and kept apologising and checked the Brat and made him hand over the chocolate without anymore ado. Fortunately the Brat values his life and hasn't made that mistake again.

Now my son is a generous and accommodating and very affectionate child. This is why I stay home. To ensure that he is confident and doesn't pick up bad habits at such an impressionable age. A child pushing him over or hitting him will not kill him. And it breaks my heart to see my son being rejected or hurt but that is not the real issue. The real issue is that such experiences will teach him to start misbehaving and that is just not on.

Now I know there are other mothers who have written very honest and touching posts on their children and behavioural problems. But I do know that most of them are very firm and sensible mothers. I don't know if any of them would have smiled devotedly at their child hammering another one while the other child's mother is juggling a newborn and screaming. Their children are as precious to them as mine is to me. I can understand their effort to try and deal with their child in a particular way so as not to aggravate the problem. But I cannot stand by and watch my child being hurt physically and emotionally for their cause. And yet as a mother I want to help them with their struggle. I am so torn....

And I am not really sure if this child had any problem or not, but I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. The person I am not willing to forgive is old pudding face.... As someone else mentioned, perhaps if there really was something wrong with the child, I would have appreciated it if the mother had come up to me, apologised and told me so. I would have let the Brat get hammered if it were for a cause. Or maybe I would not have gone that far, but I would have gently consoled the Brat and made him stay on there. All you other mothers, either on my side of the fence or not, when your child has been bullied, or the other... what do you have to say?